Scars
by VortextemporalisTARDISque
Summary: That's a rubbish title. Forget that title. When Sherlock comes home, the roughness of the last two years has left him changed. Will anyone notice in time to help him? Set during and after The Empty Hearse. AU from that point on. Contains mention of torture. Rated 'cause I'm paranoid
1. Chapter 1

I've been looking for this for ages but haven't found it. So I'm gonna do it myself. Inspired by this post:

post/72155645162/so-sherlock-has-been-tortured-thats-sort-of

I think it's unlikely that the writers will address this issue any further (I mean come on - John almost burned to death and resumed going on adventures on the next day!). So I'll have a go.

While writing this, I'll do some more research on PTSD (you know, beyond Wikipedia).

The story is set after "The Empty Hearse" and will most likely ignore the other episodes of series 3.

Will wait with the next chap until tomorrow just in case that tonight's ep will contain some useful material.

* * *

He was hunted. Hunted by very stupid, very cruel men. They were going to get him. He would suffer even more.

In the end, they got him. They hit him and whipped him without showing any mercy. His sleep-deprived brain was aware of a familiar voice. John? Sherlock lost consciousness several times and everytime he was roughly shaken or slapped he hoped it'd be John.

But the voice wasn't John. It took him almost a week to figure out who he was. He was quite embarrassed that it took _him_, Sherlock Holmes, the clever Detective with the funny hat, one week to figure out his own brother's voice. But then again if he hadn't been starved and thirsty and so terribly tired and if he hadn't been floating in a world of pain, misery and utter humiliation, he might have had a better chance.

On the flight back home, he slept for the first time in what felt like years. The nightmares were terrible and felt too to be dreams. He awoke screaming and cried for half an hour straight with Mycroft trying to awkwardly soothe him. They'd both pretend it never happened.

Back in London, everything was familiar yet so different. _He _was different.

Mycroft actually expected a thank you after watching him going through hell and had the nerve to complain about all the inconveniences he had gone through. For the first time in ages, Sherlock felt a very strong rage boiling inside him. He couldn't understand what's happening. All his carefully built walls seemed to crumble down in very mundane situations. It was weird.

He refused the doctors to take a proper look at his scarred back and only allowed them to bandage it so all the still seeping wounds wouldn't ruin his shirt.

He tried to go back to being the cold, clever detective. He put on his coat in a desperate attempt to put all this in the past. But he couldn't escape the images in his head however hard he tried.

When he entered that restaurant and saw John, he felt almost whole again. He saw that person whose voice had kept him sane in the last two years whenever he had an unpleasant or painful experience. John's playful banter and occasional compliments had been guiding him going trough hell and back. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

After John's obvious blindness, Sherlock was slightly hurt but appreciated the opportunity to work out an even more genuis way to reveal himself. That was until he saw Mary. John was obviously gonna propose to Mary (Justlookathissleevesandtheboxinfrontofhimandthewayhedrankhiswineandhisshoesandthemostobvousthingofcoursethewayhestyledhishair!), it was as if his whole world was about to break down. The only person he'd survived all that terror for (and this is by far not all about the incident in Serbia) was about to promise to spend their life with that woman.

Determined to stop that, he'd just intervened. After that, He may or not may have been slightly carried away by his unlimited joy to see John again so that he'd said some insensitive things considering his best friend had just discovered that the last two years had been a lie.

Now, he was lying on the ground in agony. His back was giving him hell and he was absolutely sure that at least three wounds had reopened (additionally to the still not closed ones that really, _really_ hurt) but the worst thing about the situation was the sharp pain in his very soul. He was not welcome anymore.

The next day, he decided to give Molly a try. His emotions were still too stubborn to let him contain them and he still heard John's voice in that terrible room that looked too similar to that bloody cell these apes had imprisoned and tortured him in. He was so scared but John gave him the strength to hide that.

* * *

A/N

Consider this a prequel; the next chapters won't be that introspection-y and contain some action and other characters' thoughts. Just bear with me!

Sooo, Please leave a review and before I forget it:

This is Fanfiction. None of the characters are mine because if they were you wouldn't read this on a Fanfiction site but watch it on BBC one!

Moffat's the boss


	2. Chapter 2

A/N I've decided that this story is set between 3X01 and 3X02. I think it works well that way.

Also: None of the characters belong to me. I'm just playing with them because I'm bored.

* * *

It was a thrilling case. John almost felt like in the old days. That was, until they had been captured by a psychotic criminal who captured people and interrogated them on request.

Sherlock described him as a consulting torturer. The man had been abducting several high-ranking politicians which had made Sherlock curious.

The plan had gone wrong a bit and here they were.

The criminal's assistants locked them in one of the old, dirty prison cells in their underground headquarters and left.

"Right then. Time for a brilliant plan of yours to get us out of here, right?" John asked while he inspected the iron bars.

A whimpering sound made him turn around abruptly.

"Sherlock, now's not the time for playin- You alright?"

But Sherlock couldn't hear him. He felt like he was drowning in pure terror. He was being in Serbia getting whipped again and John was there. Angry at him. Not welcoming him. _Hating him. _

Sherlock whimpered once more and curled on a tight ball on the floor. John hated him. He deserved this. Everything was wrong. He was so cold and it hurt so much and there was no one, absolutely no one who would come and get him out of this hell.

John watched his best friend cry and curl up on the floor. He crouched down next to him, trying not to panic. He didn't entirely know what's going on or why Sherlock was behaving like this. Sure, it was a sticky situation but they'd sure had worse.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?" He asked softly and all he received was another of these heart-wrenching whimpers. Sherlock Holmes sure knew how to break a man's heart.

He began sobbing then and John pulled him in his lap and tried desperately to sooth him. His strong, icy Sherlock was breaking down. After what felt like hours, Sherlock passed out. Unconsciousness turned eventually into sleep which turned into nightmares.

John tried frantically to wake Sherlock from the hell that was his mind. But Sherlock had developed a fever and John just couldn't seem to wake him up. Sherlock had seemed a little pale and very tired since his return a few days ago but John had known better than to question the man about his sleeping habits.

Sherlock was speaking now, muttering nonsense and words John had never heard before. But amongst all that was: "John…Please no…No more, please, it _hurts_. Oh god I'm so sorry but please stop it…aaargh! My back...Mph…goldfish…" What was Sherlock dreaming? John couldn't really understand it but he decided to see what was wrong with Sherlock's back.

Happy to do something, John set to work and turned his ex-flatmate over. After stripping Sherlock off his shirt and jacket and a bandage, John saw why Sherlock was in such pain.

Scars. Ugly, fresh looking scars. Also really nasty bruises and some oozing welts. They seemed to be infected if their colour, smell and the pus were anything to go by.

The only explanation: Torture. An injury of that kind could not be sustained in a fight.

John was confused. Sherlock hadn't been missing or abducted or anything since his grand comeback a few days ago. So the only explanation was-

The only explanation was that Sherlock had been mistreated like that while he had been traveling the world. After further inspection, John found all sorts of scars and fading bruises all over Sherlock's way too thin body. The poor guy seemed to only consist of bone and skin.

"And I attacked you..." John mumbled ruefully as he clothed Sherlock again.

At this point, they had been sitting in there for several hours although John had lost his sense of time completely in their dark cell.

Suddenly, John heard gunfire. He stood up and placed his body protectively in front of his still unconscious friend. When he heard footsteps, he looked frantically and fruitlessly for a weapon.

Turned out he didn't need one, anyway. The person he saw walking towards their cell was none other than Gregory Lestrade.

"Oh god John, thank heavens! What's wrong with Sherlock?"

John found himself answering "A lot."

Outside the tunnels, they were greeted by a huge number of police officers a very upset looking Mary. "John! Man, I'm relieved! What happened?"

When she saw some paramedics escort the captured politicians and carry a lifeless Sherlock, she urgently asked "Dammit, John what's going on?!"

After John had explained the whole thing about their abduction (he'd conveniently left out the part about Sherlock), he asked Lestrade where they were taking Sherlock.

"St Bart's I should guess. D'you need a ride?"

"Yes, please." Said John and he and Mary went to Lestrade's car, where John explained the whole story in private to two of the few friends Sherlock had.

Feel free to leave a review, they keep lazy me writing ;)


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